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BootQB-9-3_Q<^ 



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QUafeikkuLlI 



THE QUOD WRANGLE 



I 



I 



THE QUOD WRANGLE 

A FARCE IN ONE ACT 



Bjr 

OLIPHANT DOWN 

Author of " The Maker of Dreams," etc. 



Copyright, 1914, by Samuel French, Limited 



CAUTION.- FROrESSlONAL AND AMATEURS AR.^ ^^-^5-^;,^ '.'*" '^^ 
THAT THIS PLAY IS FULLY COPYRIGHTED UNDER THE B. .T,NO ._ .% 
OF THE UNITED STATES, AND NO ONE IS ^^^-^^''■^^-:-- 
THIS PLAY WITHOUT FIRST HAVING OBTAINED P£R,V.!..ION o^F 
IaMUEL FRENCH, 28 WEST 38th STREET. Nf W YORK OITY. U. S. A, 



New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 

28-30 WEST 38TH STREET 



London 
SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd 
26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 






The Fee for each and every representation of this 
play by Amateurs is One Guinea, payable in 
advance to — 

Messrs. Samuel French, Ltd., 

26 Southampton Street, 

Strand, London, 

or their authorized representatives. 

No performance may be given unless a written 
permission has first been obtained. 

All the costumes, wigs, and properties used in the 
performance of plays contained in French's list may 
be hired or purchased reasonably from Messrs. 
Charles H. Fox, Ltd., 27 Welhngton Street, Strand, 
London. 

transferred from 



APR 13 1916 



THE QUOD WRANGLE 

Produced at the Apollo Theatre on ]^Ionday evening, 
March 2, 1914. 

BillJenks Mr. E. W. Tarver. 

Snippy Mr. Franc Stoney. 

A Butcher My. Hugh Gibson. 

A Policeman My. Leslie Rea. 

Miss Ormerod Miss Gladys Maude. 

Boy Master Stanley Burton. 

Produced by Mr. Charles Hawtrey. 



1 

I 



THE QUOD WRANGLE 

Scene. — A room in a poor class tenement. There 
is a door centre hack with corridor hacking, and a 
fireplace in the right-side wall. The room is very 
hare of furniture, containing only a decrepit chair, 
a heap of hedding against the left wall, and a packing- 
case against the hack wall a little to the right of the 
door. On the packing-case stand a teapot and a cup 
and saucer. The walls are pasted here and there 
with pictures from police journals and other lurid 
puhlications. 

Bill Jenks, a dirty, unshaven man, is discovered 
asleep in the chair hy the empty fireplace. He is an 
invertehrate specimen, a waster of the incorrigihle, 
non-iejorking class. He snores placidly. Presently 
the door is pushed cautiously ajar and a Boy's head 
appears. Seeing that his father is apparently 
asleep, the Boy opens the door as softly as possihle 
and creeps down centre, watching Bill to make sure 
it is not hluff. He carries a hundle of evening papers 
and a contents hill. Satisfied that the sleep is 
genuine, he tiptoes to the hedding, and, laying his 
papers down, commences to count his coppers. An 
incautious chink wakes Bill Jenks. He looks 
round and sees what is going on. Rising, he tiptoes 
across the room and seizes the youngster by his 
shoulder. The urchin starts to his feet. 

. Boy (struggling) . Let go ; d'yer 'ear, let go ! 

Bill. Yer didn't think yer farver was at 'ome, 
did yer ? Come in to 'ide yer money, didn' yer ? 

7 



8 THE QUOD WRANGLE. 

Boy (stoutly). Yus ! 

Bill. I'll learn yer to 'ide yer money from yer 
farver. Come on, 'and it over. 

Boy. Shan't ! 

Bill. Oh, yus you will ! (He wrests the coppers 
from the hoy, who, released, goes L.) 

Boy. Why don't yer git out and do some work ? 

Bill (advancing a step). Work ! (Boy recoils 
against wall l.) Work this bloomin' cold weather ! 
(Bill turns r.) Not me ! I'm fair froze as it is. 
(Turning hack.) 'Ave yer got any more money on 
yer ? 

Boy. No ! 

Bill (advancing). Don't you tell no lies to yer 
farver what's brought you hup ! Come 'ere and let 
me see. 

(Boy dodges him round the room and makes for the 
door, where he collides with Snippy, a clean-shaven, 
close-cropped man of about thirty. He is fairly 
tidily dressed, though the suit he is wearing is too 
large for him.) 

Snippy. 'Old 'ard ! 'Old 'ard ! 

Boy. Garn ! (He ducks under Snippy's arm and 
vanishes.) 

Snippy (advancing l.c). 'Ello, Bill, what wer the 
gime ? 

Bill (sitting on chair). Gime ! Yer don't call 
things a gime, do yer ? Me strugglin' to keep a roof 
over the kids' 'eads, and that young devil goes and 
'ides arf 'is money ! 

Snippy. Yus, you look as if you was strugglin'. 

Bill, 'Oo yer gettin' at ? Yer might close the 
bloomin' door. I'm fair froze. 

(Bill shtUs the door.) 

Snippy (crossing to fireplace). Well, 'ow's things? 
Ain't seen you for a tidy time. 



THE QUOD WRANGLE. 9 

Bill (coming down). I'm fair sick of everythink. 

(Bill prepares to sit. Snippy occupies chair instead.) 

Snippy. I thought you was one of them 'appy 
vagrants what always enjoyed hisself. 

Bill (shivering). It's this bloomin' cold weather 
what fetches me. 'Ow can a feller lie out in the Park 
and 'ave a sleep all day this weather ? Winter's 
a curse to the working man, that's what it is ! 

Snippy. 'Ave a do to keep warm, eh ? Why 
don't yer get a job ? 

Bill (crossing to mattress and dragging it centre as 
he speaks). What, me work ? Yer don't catch me 
earnin' no money fer other blokes ! I 'old with them 
Socialists in the Park, " Why should the workin' man 
'ave to work ? " they says. " 'Aven't hevery man 
got a right to live ? " they says. " The State ought 
to keep yer, else what do yer pay taxes for ? " 
they says. 

Snippy. Garn, you never paid no taxes. 

Bill (standing c. and talking to Snippy's back), 
I should 'ave to if I worked, shouldn't I ! That's 
why I don't do no work. You don't git me payin' 
four 'undred a year to no bloomin' nobs fer sittin' 
in Parhament to tax us bloomin' blokes. Down with 
the State wot does nothing fer you, I says ! (He 
has picked up a corner of the mattress and drags it to 
fireplace.) 

Snippy. The State's all right, Bill .... 'Ow 
d'yer think I'm lookin' ? 

Bill (sitting on mattress, with his hack to lower side 
of fireplace). Looks as if you'd been dossin' it a 
fair treat somewhere. 

Snippy. I 'ave. Where d'yer think I've been ? 

Bill. I dunno. 

Snippy. I've been in quod. 

Bill. Quod ! Been in trouble, 'ave yer ? Thought 
I 'adn't seen yer lately. What 'ad yer done ? 



10 THE QUOD WRANGLE. 

Snippy. Stole a pair of boots and a nat. 

Bill. And they copped yer ? 

Snippy. Yus. {Smiling.) I took good care of 
that. 

Bill {getting on to his knees, aghast). What ? 

Snippy. Mikes yer jump, don't it ? Remember 
'ow cold it wer five weeks back ? I'd 'ad enough of 
shivering on an empty stummick. So I stole them 
boots and a nat, and got a month nice and warm in 
quod: Food reg'lar every day. Mikes yer mouth 
water, don't it ? 

Bill {rising). Gor blimey, in quod ! 

Snippy {rising and showing himself). See these 
togs ? Misson'ry give me these when I come out. 
Bit of all right, eh ? {Moving l.c.) I'm goin' to get 
a shilling or two on 'em. And when I've blued it, 
I'm goin' back in again. 

Bill. Goin' in again ? 

Snippy {standing l.c.) Yus, steal somethink else 
and stop in quod till the cold weather's done. 

Bill. Do they give yer good food ? 

Snippy. Well, 'tain't what we're used to at the 
Carlton, but it's a bloomin' sight better than a crust 
on the Embankment. Every man's got a right to 
Hve, you says. The State ought to keep 'im, you says. 
Well, there you are, I says. {Strolls up L.) 

Bill {meditatively). Warm ; and food reg'lar. 

Snippy {turning up l.). Course, they'll cut yer 
'air. They're fair beggars with a pair of scissors. 

Bill {coming c). 'Ow ought yer to start ? 

Snippy. It's as easy as kiss yer hand ! 

Bill. I shouldn't never 'ave the pluck ! 

Snippy {coming c). Are yer thinkin' of it serious ? 

Bill. It's bloomin' cold 'ere. 

Snippy. I tell yer what. Nip down to the 
butcher's what's at the corner. Lay yer 'ands on 
a bit of meat and then run like 'ell. 

Bill. Run hke But they mightn't cop me. 

Snippy. Well, then you've got yer bit of meat. 



THE QUOD WRANGLE. 11 

(Crossing to fireplace.) If they do, you're all right for 
a month in a nice Government 'otel. 

Bill. But it don't seem honest to pretend to be 
thievin' when yer ain't. Besides, lettin' yerself be 
caught is almost as bad as 'elpin' the police. No, no ; 
a bit of honest thievin's all right, but 

Snippy. Garn, yer fool ; if yer went on thievin' 
just ordinary, the police ud never cop yer at all. 
{Advancing to Bill.) But if yer give 'em a chance to 
nab yer, they get so pleased with theirselves they 
make a sort of 'ero of yer. You nip down to the 
butcher's and do as I says. 

Bill {taking a step or two l.). I'll do it ! Swop 
me bob, I'll do it ! 

Snippy. That's the ticket. 'Ave yer got any 
money ! 

Bill. A few coppers. 

Snippy {speaking quickly)^ 'And 'em over. 'Twon't 
do to be found with money on yer. Say yer 
was starvin', and did it fer the sake of yer kids what 
'adn't nothin' to eat. Then they'll make a fuss of 
yer when yer comes out. Give yer some togs same as 
what I've got. 

Bill {doubtfully) . It's only a few coppers. 'Sides, 
young Gus ought to 'ave 'em. 

Snippy {still speaking quickly). I'll give 'em to the 
boy. You 'and 'em over. Don't you take no risks. 
You get 'ard labour with any spondulicks on yer. 

Bill. 'Ard labour ! Ugh ! 'Ere tike 'em. 
(Gives Snippy the coppers.) 

Snippy. Now then, off yer goes whilst yer pluck's 
up. 

(Bill goes out at a trot. Snippy flips one of the coins 
in the air and laughs. In a moment the Boy comes 
in. Snippy pockets the money quickly and strolls to 
fireplace.) 

Boy (looking down the passage after Bill). Where's 



12 THE QUOD WRANGLE. 

farver off to in such a 'urry ? [He picks up papers 
from up L. where he had previously put them.) 

Snippy (leaning against the mantelpiece). Don't 
you ask no questions. 'E's gone off on a little business. 

Boy. Gorn to drink my coppers more like ! 
(Advancing R.c.) If 'e gets drunk, I'll set the 
bloomin' street on 'im ! 

Snippy. Don't you worry about your farver. 'E 
'aven't got no money on 'im. 

Boy. Yus 'e 'ave ! 

Snippy. Well, 'e never said nothin' to me about 
it anyway. 
(Bill returns, breathless, with a piece of meat.) 

Bill. I've done it. 
Boy. Done what ? 
Bill (holding out meat). That. 
Boy. I told you 'e 'ad some money. 
Snippy. Garn, 'e didn't buy it. 'E stole it. Your 
farver's a gaol-bird, me lad. 
Boy. Blimey, been thievin' ! 
Snippy. You git out of this afore the cops come. 
Boy. Cops ! 

Snippy kicks at youngster, who nips out of the door 
and away.) 

Snippy. Well, did they see yer ? 

Bill (seated on chair and very nervous). Yus, I 
think so. Bloomin' butcher wer right by me when I 
took it. 

Snippy. Quick, I'll shut the door. (He goes 
to door and closes it.) 

Bill. Took it right by 'im, I did. It's a waste of 
honest talent, doin' it so open. They'll be 'ere in a 
minute ! 

Snippy {by door). Yus, I can 'ear 'em now. 'Ide 
the meat. Put it under yer coat. Make it look Uke 
a real do. 

(Snippy has come down to behind chair.) 



THE QUOD WRANGLE. la 

Bill (complying). I wish I'd never done it. 

[There is a loud knocking at the door. Bill starts 
nervously. Snippy slaps him on the hack. The 
door opens.) 

Snippy. Why, if it ain't a poHceman ! Good 
arternoon, sir. 

{Without a word the policeman pushes past him. He 
is followed by the Butcher wearing a blue apron.) 

Butcher (referring to Bill). That's the man. I 
saw him. Took it right under my very eyes. 

Bill. I never ! 

Butcher. Never what ? 

Bill. Never stole no piece of meat. 

Butcher (delighted at having cornered him). Who 
said anything about a piece of meat ? Seems hke a 
guilty conscience, don't it ? 

Policeman. What's that under your coat ? 
(Goes to him and produces the stolen joint.) Well, 
you're an amateur sort of thief, you are. 

Snippy (who has worked round l.c). Gawd, Bill, 
you ain't been thievin' ? 

Butcher. Don't look hke it, do it ? 

Snippy (advancing c). 'E's a 'ard-workin' man, 
sir. 'E'd never do such a thing. 

Policeman. You keep quiet or you'h be in it as 
well. 

(Snippy holds up his hands in dismay and goes up l.) 

Policeman. (Producing note-book.) What's your 
name ? 

Bill. Jenks. 

Policeman. Christian name ? 

Bill. Bill, sir. 

Policeman (correcting severely). William ! 
Address ? 

Bill. I'm at 'ome now. (Rising and bursting 
out in his Hyde Park manner.) If yer can call the 



14 THE QUOD WRANGLE. 

like of this an 'ome ! But it's all the 'ome the 
bloomin' nobs lets us workin' men 'ave ! 

(Snippy has turned and listens approvingly. Bill's 
otUhtirst has taken him c.) 

Snippy (aside to Bill, whilst Butcher is picking 
hairs off meat and Policeman is writing). That's the 
talk. Keep it up. 

Bill [swelling up). I tell yer Hengland's goin' 
to the dogs. What if I 'ave stole a bit of meat ? 
It's the like of me what's the back-bone of the nation. 
What if I 'ave stole a bit of meat, I says ! Me and 
the kids is starvin'. I'm a Socialist, I am, what 
claims a right to live on other people. {He moves l.) 

Policeman {writing calmly). Used violent lan- 
guage when arrested. 

Snippy {coming down to Policeman and touching 
his forelock). 'Ow much'll pore old Bill get fer this, 
sir ? 

Policeman. Oh, ten days, I dare say. 

Butcher. Ten days ! Not if I know it ! I'll see 
he gets a month ! It's not the first bit of meat he's 
stolen. I'm ready to swear to some ribs of beef last 
week. 

Bill {advancing c). It's a bloomin' he ! Till 
Snippy come in I never 

(Snippy has crossed l. behind Bill, and now kicks him 
surreptitiously.) 

Snippy. Shut yer 'ead, yer fool ! 
Policeman {closing note-hook). Come on, WiUiam 
Jenks. And you'd best come quiet. 

{He moves to door. Bill follows him.) 

Snippy {in a whisper). Say something about the 
kids. 

Bill. Eh ? 

Snippy {to Policeman). You'll let 'im give me a 
message for the little 'uns, sir. 



THE QUOD WRANGLE. 15 

Bill. Yus, say good-bye to the kids, Snippy. 
I've been a good farver to 'em, Gawd knows. I was 
goin' to give 'em a rare 'ot supper ter -night and send 
'em to bed 'appy. But the law's aginst me. Snippy. 
I'm fair copped. 

Snippy {shaking Bill's hand). Ah, times is cruel 
'ard. But don't you worry. Bill. {Moving him 
down L. a trifle and lowering his voice.) I give that 
money to young Gus all right. {Turning to Police- 
man.) Don't be 'ard on 'im, sir. 'E 'as been a good 
farver. 

(Miss Ormerod, a pretty young girl of about twenty- 
two appears in the doorway. She carries a bundle of 
" Votes for Women " newspapers, with a contents 
hill in large letters—' Brutal Police Attacks 
ON Women.") 
Ormerod {on seeing Policeman). Oh, there you 

are ! {To Bill and Snippy.) May I come in ? 
Snippy. Certainly, miss, if you can abide to look 

on sufferin'. 

Ormerod {advancing). Thank you; I only want 

a word with the constable. 
Policeman. Yes, miss ? 
Ormerod. Look here, don't you think you've 

been off your beat long enough ? I was amazed 

when I saw you rush into this building ! How do you 

expect me to stand in the street and sell these papers 

of mine, if there's no one there to keep law and order ? 

Policeman. Sorry, miss 

Ormerod. You know perfectly well you pohce 

are told off to stand by us in case we are set on by 

the crowd. It's too bad of you leaving me there 

unprotected ! 

Policeman {smiling politely). Very sorry, miss ; 

but there's a case here I've got to attend to. 
Ormerod {looking round excitedly). Oh, have you 

arrested somebody ? 
Butcher {by fireplace). Afternoon, Miss Ormerod ; 



16 THE QUOD WRANGLE. 

this man come to my shop and stole a piece of meat. 
Stole it before my very eyes. Says he's a Socialist. 

Ormerod. Oh, dear, these Socialists are dreadful : 
they get worse and worse. They've no respect at all 
for other people's property. {To Bill.) Aren't 
3^ou ashamed of yourself ? Didn't you know it was 
wrong to steal a piece of meat ? 

Bill. What about them 'ouses your sort burnt 
down ? 

Policeman (confidentially). Look here, miss, you 
take my advice and go and sell them interesting- 
looking papers of yours. 

Ormerod {haughtily). There's no need for you to 
be familiar, just because I slapped your face last 
night. 

(Snippy laughs to himself.) 

Policeman {by door). Come on, William Jenks ! 
It's time we was off. 

Ormerod. I demand to hear what Mr. WiUiam 
Jenks has to say. 

Bill (c). I'm a British workin' man, and I did it 
for me starvin' kids. 

Ormerod. The children. Ah, there we get the 
woman's interest in the State. I thought I should 
find something in which it was my duty to interfere. 

Policeman. Well, miss, you mustn't interfere 
here. 

Ormerod. Not allowed to interfere ! {Then 
ignoring the Policeman and addressing herself to 
Bill.) How many children have you ? 

Bill. What's that got to do with you? 

Snippy {patting Bill on the back). There, Bill, 
don't take on so. P'raps the lidy'U look after the 
little 'uns whilst you'm in trouble. 

Bill {sulkily). I've got two, miss. A little girl, 
miss, and a boy. 

Snippy. A sweet Httle feller, miss, age ten. 



THE QUOD WRANGLE. 17 

Ormerod. Age ten ! And do the man-made 
laws allow this infant to work ? 

Snippy. Yes, miss. 

Ormerod {turning to Policeman triumphantly). 
Ah, I thought so. (Back to Snippy.) At what ? 

Snippy. Same line as yerself, miss. 

Ormerod. A propagandist at ten ! 

Snippy (airily). No, miss, he sells pipers. 

Bill. About 'orrid murders and — and brutal 
attacks, miss. 

Ormerod (crossing indignantly down R.) As if it 
weren't disgusting enough to circulate these things, 
without employing children to do it ! But come, 
Mr. Jenks, let me hear what you've got to say in your 
defence. (She places papers and contents bill on the 
chair and prepares to thrash the matter out.) 

Butcher (moving to Policeman in protest). I 
say 

Policeman. Let 'em talk. Let 'em talk. It 
don't do no harm. 

Bill (r.c). You asks me what Lve got to say in 
my defence ; and I says me kids is starvin' ! Fm 
just a workin' man what 'as nothin' done for 'im. 
I 'ates the State, I 'ates the Government. Wot I 
says is, " Give the workin' man 'is rights and damn 
the country ! " What if I 'ave stole a piece of meat ? 
If yer in Parlymint yer can steal the 'ole bloomin' 
cow and call it legislation. Justice ! I tell yer there 
ain't no bloomin' justice in Hengland ! 

Ormerod. I quite agree with you, Mr. Jenks. 
And there will be no justice until we have a say in the 
matter. Everybody ought to be given their rights, 
w^omen and working men and all ; and as you said, 
" Damn the country." 

Bill. 'Ear, 'ear ! 

Ormerod (holding out her hand). Bill, shake 
hands. We're comrades in oppression ! 

(They shake hands. Policeman is highly amused.) 



18 THE QUOD WRANGLE. 

Ormerod (crossing to Policeman). Constable, 
I'm sure Bill is sorry. If I pay for the meat nothing 
more will be said, will it ? 

Bill (in alarm). Eh ? (He has moved down R.) 

Policeman (referring her to the Butcher). Well, 
miss, it's for this gentleman to prosecute. 

Butcher. Yes, it's my affair, and I'm going to 
prosecute. I'm very sorry. Miss Ormerod, but there 
have been too many thefts lately. 

Snippy (sententiously) . Oh, it's a awful neighbour- 
'ood, miss. 

Ormerod. Oh, but I'm sure you won't press the 
matter, if I ask you not to. 

Butcher (firmly). I'm sorry, but I must. 

(Furtive joy on Bill's part. Snippy shakes hands 
with him. Policeman strolls to the corridor, where 
he stands looking out.) 

Ormerod. I believe you refuse me because I am 
a Suffragette. I'm sure we've never done you any 
harm. 

Butcher. No, miss, that's true. But then a 
butcher doesn't have any plate-glass windows. 

Ormerod (moving away l. reflectively). Let me 
see, my people are very good customers of yours, I 
think. 

Butcher. Yes, miss, and I see what you're driv- 
ing at, but 

Ormerod (turning sharply). Well, do you want 
to lose our custom ? 

Butcher (moving down to her). Oh, of course not. 
But this is a matter of principle. 

Ormerod. Not only will you lose our custom, but 
I'll personally canvass all my friends, and you'll lose 
their custom too. I'll see justice done. 

Butcher. You don't call it justice to let a thief 
off? 

Snippy, 'Ear, 'ear ! 



THE QUOD WRANGLE. 19 

Ormerod {crushing them). I choose to call it 
justice. Well, you have your choice. 

Butcher {tmeasily). Why do you take his part, 
miss ? He's not worth it. He was caught red- 
handed. He deserves to go to prison. 

Bill. That's what I say. I deserve to go to 
prison. 

Ormerod {to Bill) . Your wrongs have made you 
bitter. Come, Mr. Fletcher, justice is all very well 
for men ; they know no better ; but mercy is a woman's 
prerogative. 

Bill {turning away in disgust). Ow, chuck it ! 

Ormerod. Well, what about losing all that 
custom ? 

Butcher. Oh, of course, Miss Ormerod, it's not 
right, but if you really ask it 

Ormerod. Oh, I do, Mr. Fletcher, and thank you 
so much ! I knew you'd agree ; you have a kind 
heart. A representative of the R.S.P.C.A. told me 
you killed your animals most humanely. Now, of 
course you'll allow me to pay for that meat. 

Butcher. Oh, thank you, but I really couldn't 
hear of it. I was most happy to obhge you. Besides, 
Fve got the meat again. I can put it back in the 
shop. 

Ormerod {horrified). What ! You intend to sell 
a piece of meat that this dirty ruffian has been finger- 
ing ! 

Bill {advancing). 'Ere, " dirty ruffian ! " You 
called me comrade just now. 

(Policeman comes down a little to stop him in case of 
need) . 

Ormerod {very haughtily). I think you forget 
to whom you are speaking ! But still I'm glad it's 
all settled. Though I insist on paying for the meat. 

{She pays the Butcher, whilst the Policeman interests 
himself in the pictures to the left of the door. Bill and 
Snippy are by the fireplace.) 



20 THE QUOD WRANGLE. 

Bill (aside to Snippy). 'Ere, I ain't goin' to prison 
arter all ! 

Snippy. Don't seem like it. 

Bill. Well, that's a bit of all right, I don't think ! 

Snippy. Why don't yer 'it the cop on the jaw ? 
Then yer'U 'ave to go. 

Bill. 'It the cop ! I dursant ! 

Snippy. Garn ! 'It 'im now while 'e ain't lookin'. 

Bill [hesitating). He's such a big feller. 

Snippy. 'It 'im ! 

{He pushes Bill forward against the Policeman. 
Bill, thus encouraged, lands the Policeman one.) 

Butcher. Here, what the blazes '! [He 

crosses and seizes Bill hy the right arm.) This comes 
of your mercy, Miss Ormerod ! 

Policeman (taking Bill hy the left arm). You've 
■done it now, young feller me lad ! 

Ormerod (down l.). Are you going to arrest him ? 

Policeman. You bet ! 

Ormerod. What for ? 

Policeman. What for ! Didn't you see him 
strike me ? 

Ormerod (advancing). Then why didn't you 
arrest me last night when I struck you ? Come, 
answer me that ! 

(The Butcher, seeing she has a new victim, withdraws 
and sits down on the chair hy fireplace.) 

Policeman. Oh, you're a lady, miss. You're 
■different. 

Ormerod. Yes, I'm a woman and have no 
rights — not even to be arrested ! 

Policeman (to Bill, whose left wrist he is holding). 
Come on. Step out. 

Ormerod (getting hetween him and the door). You 
are not going to bluff out of it like this. I insist on 
knowing why you arrest this man for striking you and 
refuse to arrest me for the same offence. (Moving 



THE QUOD WRANGLE. 21 

down L. again dramatically.) All England shall ring 
with this injustice. 

Policeman. Well, miss, if you must know, its 
this hunger strike. We have orders not to arrest 
more of you ladies than we can help. 

Ormerod. Then justice for all ahke, I say. Let 
the man go. 

Bill. Don't you take no notice of what she says, 
sir. I promise you I won't go in fer no 'unger strike. 

Omerod. You're very ungrateful when I'm doing 
my best for you. {To Policeman.) I do hope he 
didn't hurt you. , 

Policeman. Lor bless you, no, miss. He didnt 
hit half so hard as what some of you ladies do. 

{He lets go Bill's wrist. Bill moves up towards the 
back wall.) 

Ormerod. Look here, if you don't let him off, Lll 
call every mihtant in London on to your beat. {Tri- 
umphantly.) Now what do you say ? 

Policeman. Sorry, miss. I must do my duty. 

Bill {turning). Yus, that's right. You take me 
to quod. It's the sifest phce nowadays. 

Ormerod. Will you accept a sovereign to let the 
poor fellow off ? 

Bill {in an awed whisper). Blimey, bribery ! 

Policeman. I'm sorry, miss. I can't take 
money. 

Bill. Let's get on, sir. It's cruel to put tempta- 
tion in yer way ! 

Ormerod. Oh, perhaps I shouldn't have offered 
you money. I'm sorry ; I didn't mean to insult you ; 
but men have such pecuHar ideas about honour. 
But come, will you let him off if I give him some 
work and undertake to answer for his good conduct ? 

Policeman. You'd think I was intimidated about 
them mihtants if I did. 

Ormerod. Oh no, I shouldn't. I can see you 
are very brave. 



22 THE QUOD WRANGLE. 

Policeman. Well, miss, I didn't ought {He 

looks hesitatingly, to see what the Butcher's attitude 
in the matter is.) 

Butcher {grinning). Don't you mind me. You 
act according to your conscience. 

Ormerod. D'you know, I admire you very much. 
I 'm sorry I slapped your face last night . You behaved 
hke a gentleman. 

{J^he Policeman, very embarrassed, shifts from one 
foot to the other.) 

Bill {severely). If you don't come on quick, I 
shall 'ave to go to the poHce-station without yer ! 

Ormerod. Constable, if you let him go it might be 
the making of him. I can keep him employed four- 
teen hours a day carrying our sandwich boards. 

Bill {coming down r.c). Fourteen hours a day ! 
Carryin' boards for fourteen hours ! 

Ormerod {crossing to him). Yes, you'd hke to do 
some honest work in the cause of freedom, wouldn't 
you. Bill ? 

Bill {making a last stand). No ! ! I'm a British 
workin' man and I demand my right to go to quod ! 

Policeman. Look here, I don't know what your 
game is, but you do as the lady says. You've struck 
me. That would mean hard labour. 

Bill. 'Ard labour ! 'Ow much ? 

Policeman. Six months. 

Bill. Gor bhmey ! 

Ormerod. You'll carry the sandwich boards, 
won't you. Bill ? 

Bill {ruefully). I — I suppose I shall 'ave to. 

Ormerod. That's right. {Turning.) Now, con- 
stable, will you see that he has a bath ? 

Policeman. Well, miss, I'm afraid I couldn't 
without arresting him and taking him to the station. 

Ormerod {crestfallen). Oh. {Then brightening.) 
Oh, Mr. Fletcher, I'm sure you wouldn't mind bathing 
him ? 



THE QUOD WRANGLE. 23 

Butcher {jumping up from the chair). Me ? I'm 
blowed if I do ! 

Ormerod. Oh, yes, do please, Mr. Fletcher. If 
you do, I won't say a word about your wanting to 
sell that horrid piece of meat again. 

Butcher (after a struggle with himself) . Oh, well 

(With delight at her success, Miss Ormerod picks up 
her papers again.) 

Snippy. Lor, miss, you do know 'ow to work 'em. 
Butcher (to Bill). Come on, you ! 
Bill. I'm — I'm to 'ave a bath ? 
Butcher (grimly). Yes ! 

(In the lowest depths of dejection, Bill commences to 
shuffle towards the door. Half-way there he turns and 
regards Snippy more in sorrow than in anger.) 

Bill (his voice husky with emotion). Work ! A 
bath ! (Shaking his head.) Gawd, you 'ave done it 
on me proper. 

(Curtain.) 



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